Friday, 11 July 2014

USA (Choose Your Own Adventure variant)

The sky looks like bone and the sun's licking your skin like a razor slices garlic.

It's a two-horse town and you can smell both of them. A few fading buildings cling stubbornly to the desert like a moonshine-addled prospector's final teeth. The building on the left sports a wooden jug hanging from a rusty chain. Despite the screeching, this is a good sign. You step off the scorching sand and onto the shaded decking. With every step your spurs jangle.

You push open the saloon doors. If anything, it's hotter inside. Under a dusty mirror in the corner, a disheveled fellow hammers away at an out-of-tune piano, enthusiasm kicking ability in the head. Lounging at the bar in front of you are three ornery-looking varmits.1None of them have any cake.